


Three Golden Fishes

by Morvith



Series: Russian Fairy Tales [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, M/M, Merpeople, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Sexist Language, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:51:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvith/pseuds/Morvith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time there was a poor harpist with a big dream... J2 retelling of a Russian fairytale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Once upon a time, on the shore of the Caran lake, there was a city called Gorburg – the wealthiest and most beautiful of all the cities of the Great Plains._

_The spires of its cathedral towered all over the merchants’ mansions, gleaming like pearls. Thousands of people came and went through its wide streets, in and out of its shops – furs from the North, grain from the South, spices from the East, anything could be bought and sold in Gorburg. Hundreds of ships and boats filled its ports, ready to sail down to the river and to the sea._

_The only thing the people of Gorburg loved more than their trade was music and right in their city there once was a man as poor as a church mouse, yet he could play the harp with unsurpassed skill..._

 

***************

 

The early morning sun was barely peeking over the horizon, but Gorburg was already starting to wake up: farmers’ carts were already driving through the gates with their wares, new ships bobbed toward the harbour, the artisans in their workshops readied their instruments and even in the large, lavish houses the richest merchants were already ringing for breakfast or water or their clothes as their servants rushed about.

Here and there, idle children of those same merchants were returning home after a night of partying – but the man walking through the narrow, damp streets in the northern quarter could hardly be called that.

His cloak might not have been new, his simple yet respectable clothes would have revealed, on closer inspection, signs of repeated if skilful mending, but he carried himself with confidence even after such a long night. Tall and strong, he had two strands of copper wrapped around his wrists and a leather case slung over his shoulder.

He opened the door of a small, shabby house and went in, ducking his head under the low doorframe. The inside was little better than the outside, but it was clear that whoever lived there had done their best to make the room as comfortable as possible.

A woman raised her head from the fireplace, then smiled.“Jensen, finally! I was starting to worry...”

 

“Oh, mother, you know how these things go,” he replied, carefully placing the case on the table before taking off his cloak. “Those rich boys have nothing better to do than party the night away – all very well for us,” he concluded, placing two silver coins on the table. “Soon father’s debt will be paid”

 

“Will you start spending a little more on yourself then?”

 

Jensen shrugged and looked away. “We’ll see... How about Royse? Does she need anything?”

 

Mrs. Ackles hesitated, knowing full well it was a distraction – the only distraction that would never fail. “Well...the doctor did say there was a tonic...”

 

“Good, we’ll send Misha to get it when he drops by.” He stifled a yawn.

 

“I was making breakfast, do you want to eat something?”

 

“No, thank you, mother. I’ll just go and catch up some sleep – I am expected at Reneer Benedict’s birthday tonight.”

 

She immediately frowned. “That boy is no good. I thought you didn’t like him.”

 

“I still don’t, which is why he’ll have to pay a slightly higher price.”

 

“I don’t know, Jensen...”

 

He smiled and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Cheer up, mom. There’s nothing to worry about.”

 

The worry wasn’t completely erased from her face, but she nodded. “I trust you, son.”

 

Jensen smiled and went into the second and last room of their tiny house: it was even smaller than the kitchen and even shabbier, with only two beds and a chest of drawers against the wall.

Only one of the beds was free: the other was occupied by a thin, pale girl.

 

Jensen tried to be as quiet as possible, but as soon as he sat on his bed, the girl opened her eyes. “Jensen? You’re back?”

 

“Good morning, Royse,” he said, moving to sit down beside her. “How do you feel today?”

 

“Fine, thanks. You just came back?”

 

“Yes, it was a good night,” he replied and did not call her out on her little white lie.

 

She smiled and tried to get up. “That’s nice. I’m going to help mom.”

 

Jensen’s hand was immediately on her shoulder. “Perhaps you should rest a little more...”

 

She stubbornly shook her head. “I’m really feeling better. Besides, you need your rest.”

 

Sighing, he helped her get up. “Just don’t overwork yourself.”

 

“Look who’s talking,” said Royse, laughing as she went.

 

Jensen carefully hung his harp over his bed and quickly undressed, but, instead of slipping under the covers, he went down on his knees and crawled under his bed.

It was as dark as night down there, but he needed no light: for years and years – since they first moved in that small house – a certain loose brick under his bed had been his secret hiding place.

Jensen smiled as he moved it aside, remembering the treasures it used to hold – tin soldiers, marbles and a couple of shiny buttons.

The time for games was long gone, but that little hole had become even more precious now, for it held all of Jensen’s hopes and dreams.

Out of the dark came a small wooden box, still showing faint traces of bright paint, and into the box Jensen placed his silver coin, hearing it clink against all the others he had saved since he had first started working.

Stifling a yawn, he closed the box and put it back into the wall, sliding the brick back in place, then finally climbed into bed, letting his secret hopes and dreams lull him to sleep.

 

***************

 

_That night the youngest son of one of the richest merchants in the city was celebrating his birthday: a huge pavilion decked with hundreds of lamps was raised on the opposite shore of the lake, a veritable army of servants employed and a ship was pulled from their fleet to ferry their guests to the party and back._

 

***************

 

The ship set sail precisely at sundown, its bow cutting through the red and gold waters.

Jensen could see the dark shadow of the coastline, the pavilion lights and the port beacons shining like fallen star as he leaned on the starboard bulwarks.

His hands closed tightly around the rail as he imagined himself on a ship like that, sailing toward foreign lands.

 

Something moved out of the corner of his eye – a shadow down in the water, like a man’s head.

Jensen turned around, but there was nothing at all, only ripples and foam – and yet, he was sure he had seen something.

_Maybe it was one of the golden fishes that live in the lake, following in our ship’s wake._ He smiled to himself, leaning further out of the rail.

 

“Ackles!” Reneer Benedict shouted. “I’m not paying to look at the scenery! Play something!”

Biting back a sigh, Jensen pasted a fake smile on his face and turned back toward the stern.

 

***************

 

_The harpist didn’t have a single moment of peace: he played and sang for hours and hours while people around him ate, drank and sometimes danced._

_The night wore on, the hour grew late and most of the guests started going back to the city, but when the ship came back one last time to gather the young, rich man and his friends, he simply moved his party on board and wouldn’t let the captain leave._

 

***************

 

Jensen’s throat and fingers ached from use, but his smile didn’t waver. He would have gladly left with the last ship, but every time he tried to put his harp down, if only for a five minute break, Reneer shouted that he had been engaged for the whole party and he and his friends still wanted some music.

_I can’t imagine why, they are so busy drinking and shouting they wouldn’t notice if I started singing Pretty Joanna to the tune of an Easter psalm. Still, the customer is always right..._

He stifled a tired yawn and started plucking the strings again, settling for a well-known, well-loved ballad that usually had the whole audience singing along.

But the young men were not in the mood to sing, only to complain.

 

“It is too bad,” said one to the birthday boy. “That your brother wouldn’t let us hire some women! Now that would have been a way to end the night!”

 

 

“Can’t we ask the ship’s captain to get some?” whined another.

 

Reneer shook his head. “My brother convinced my father to forbid it! Meddling idiot!”

 

“Hey, we don’t need girls!” piped up another, red-faced and obviously drunk. “Jensen’s here. He’s practically a girl!”

 

Jensen grit his teeth and kept playing as a round of laughter echoed all over the deck.

 

“No, really, look at him!” the man insisted. “Have you seen those lips? Better than any whore at the Peacock’s!”

 

“Hey, he’s right!” Reneer slurred, standing up and stumbling forward. “ ‘s not like you can afford to be choosy, either, mmmh?”

The harpist said nothing, his fingers stilling on the strings.

“C’mon, Ackles...We can be generous. Fifty pieces of gold for a good time. Think of all the things you could do with that kind of money,” he added, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Jensen was silent, for he knew even better than him what that sum could have bought.

“You just have to put that pretty mouth of yours to good use. What say you?”

 

“There’s not enough gold in all of Gorburg to make me touch you, that’s what I say,” he replied as he stood up and turned away.

 

 

“You’re nothing but a beggar!” Reneer snarled and grabbed him again. “If I want you, I’ll have you – what’s wrong, afraid of stealing your mother and your sister’s trade?”

 

Jensen whirled back and punched him, sending him sprawling on the deck. All laughter and catcalling immediately stopped.

 

“Anyone else wants to try?”

Nobody moved as Jensen picked up his harp and walked away. “Do not bother with your money, master Benedict, I shall send my bill directly to your father!”

 

“Bastard!” Reneer moaned. “You shall pay for this, Ackles! You’ll never play a single note in this city! Out of my ship!”

 

“Oh, do try! We’ll see what the people of Gorburg would rather listen to, my music or your drunken whining!” Jensen shot back as he strolled down the plank. “I’ll take the Sea King and all his court over your band of buffoons any day!”

 

***************

 

_So the ship left for the city and the harpist remained ashore, where he started making his way home on foot._

_He walked and walked with only moonlight as his guide, but after he almost stumbled into the lake for the third time, he resigned himself to spending the night under the stars._

_As luck would have it, he found a small cove, well hidden both from land and water: there he took off his cloak, carefully wrapped his harp in its soft folds and finally settled down on the sand to sleep._

 

************

 

The next day, Jensen woke up to a world still half-immersed in darkness, the first light of dawn peeking over the horizon.

Uncurling himself from around his harp and ignoring his growling stomach, he walked down to the lake and splashed some water on his face.

He looked up to see Gorburg – gleaming, rich Gorburg, as far away as the moon. _A pox on Reneer Benedict, his good-for-nothing friends and all the spoiled, rich brats in the city! Those bloody..._

 

 

After running through his extensive list of expletives twice, which made him feel marginally better, he went back to recover his discarded belongings. However, instead of setting out for home, he carefully unwrapped his harp from its makeshift cover and experimentally ran his hand over the strings.

_It doesn’t sound exactly right – perhaps a little humidity_ , he reasoned as he started playing in earnest, first a love ballad, then a lively jig for dancing.

 

The harp was soon back in top form, all the notes dancing in the air and over the water, but Jensen’s heart clearly wasn’t in it.

The music abruptly stopped in the middle of the second refrain as he dropped his hand on his thigh, his fingers nervously tapping a disconnected rhythm.

 

Just as suddenly as it stopped, the music started again, only this time it was not part of the usual repertoire – really, if asked, Jensen wouldn’t have known what he was doing, either. He simply played, simply kept the music coming.

Starting to sing wasn’t even a conscious decision, but it had gotten to the point that music was not enough: he just had to let it all out before it choked him and there was no other way, just his harp and his voice.

 

Eyes closed, he sang of the dream that lulled him to sleep at night, the dream for which he had been saving since he first started plucking harp strings – of the ship he’d build, a big, strong ship, the best Caran lake had ever seen; of all the foreign lands he’d see and all the treasures and goods he’d bring back.

He sang of the day he’d be the richest merchant of all Gorbug, when his mother and sister would go to Mass in the finest furs and the Ackles name would be respected once more.

 

The words stopped coming, for there was nothing else to say. He could have simply stopped playing, but instead he chose to wrap it up nicely, creating a sort of reprise and then gradually letting it fade away.

The last note still echoed in the air when a new voice resounded: “That was incredible.”

 

Jensen sprang to his feet, looking around. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

 

“I’m here,” the mysterious voice replied.

 

Jensen turned back toward the lake: a brown-haired man was leaning on one of the rocks in the deeper end of the cove, his chin resting over his crossed arms and half of his body still completely submerged.

 

For a moment, Jensen thought he wouldn’t have minded seeing more of the stranger, then resolutely pushed the thought away. “How did you get here?”

 

“I swam,” the man replied, watching him intently. “I heard that sound…you were making it, weren’t you?”

 

Jensen nodded, feeling slightly sick at the thought of his dreams, his most secrets hope laid bare before this stranger.

Then the man smiled and it was like the first ray of sunshine after the long winter months. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard – and you,” he added after a brief pause, his eyes roaming over Jensen’s body. “You are the most beautiful drylander I’ve ever seen.”

 

“Drylander? I’ve never heard that one before.” The mysterious man kept staring at him without even blinking – it was most unnerving. “Well, shouldn’t you get back to your ship now?”

 

“Ship?” he frowned. “You mean those clumsy things you people use to cross the lake and the sea? Why would I need one?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

 

Jensen laughed nervously. “Surely you don’t mean to say you swam all the way from Gorburg?”

 

“Of course not, that’s dry land. I can’t go up there.”

 

Suddenly, everything made sense. _Why would he need a ship indeed!_ “You are one of the Merpeople.”

 

“I never said I wasn’t,” he replied, gently teasing. “I am Prince Jared of the Sea King’s court. And who are you, drylander?”

 

“I am Jensen, harpist of Gorburg.”

 

“Oh. So you live behind the walls?” Jensen nodded. “And you never come down here, do you? Of course you don’t, I would have heard you before. Why were you singing? Has your lover deserted you?” He asked disbelievingly, before an edge of panic slipped into his voice. “You’re not going to drown yourself, are you?”

 

By all rights, Jensen should have taken offence at the prince’s prying, instead he burst into laughter: “I’d need to have a lover before I could be deserted! No drowning for me, prince Jared: I am no threat to the peace of your kingdom.”

 

“And my peace of mind, too!” Jared said. “But how did you end up here, then?”

 

Jensen shrugged. “There was a party on this shore last night – a rich, spoiled brat’s birthday party. He and his friends wanted me to…do something more than play and sing. I refused and had to leave the ship.”

 

The prince’s eyes widened: “A human party made all that noise? I swear we could hear it from the bottom of the lake! And you stayed here all night?”

 

He nodded. “I was going to go back to the city, but first I wanted to make sure my harp was fine – and my voice, too.”

 

“So that’s why you made those sounds?”

 

He nodded. “Yes. Well, actually, this,” he plucked a quick set of notes. “is called playing. When I use my voice, instead, it’s called singing.”

 

“Singing...” Jared repeats carefully. “I heard it before – from passing ships. But that wasn’t like you,” he added. “They mostly sang about girls and drinking beer. What is beer?”

 

“Nothing you’d like,” Jensen replied quickly, trying not to think of all the damage a drunk sea lord could do. “Can you even drink?”

 

Jared shrugged. “I guess. We just don’t need to. You still haven’t told me what your song was about,” he added almost as an afterthought.

 

The harpist sighed, half in annoyance and half in resignation. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

 

“No. Why would I want to?”

 

“Never mind, just a human habit.” Another sigh. “I was just…singing about my dream.”

 

“You saw all that while you slept?”

 

“No, I mean… a dream is something you want to come true – something you long for that would make you happy, happier than you’ve ever been. Do you have something like that?” he asked, looking up.

 

Jared’s eyes were still on him, a strangely pensive look on his face. “Yes…I think I do.” He blinked, physically shaking himself from his thoughts, then smiled again. “So, that’s what you want? To have a lot of gold and silver and things like that?”

 

Jensen shrugged. “Being rich would just be a mean to an end…Most of all, I want to see the world.”

 

“Why don’t you just do it? Those…ships? They are always coming and going, why don’t you just take one?”

 

He shook his head. “I couldn’t leave my mother and my sister to fend for themselves. I’m the breadwinner of the family now – besides, I must pay off all of father’s debts before I can do anything.”

 

“Even if it means playing for spoiled, rich brats? Even if they ask you things you don’t like?” Jared asked slowly.

 

“Even if it means playing for people I don’t like, yes. But they can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to. I may be a simple player, but I am still a free man.”

 

“A matter of honour. I understand.” Jared said. “I think I can help you with your…your dream.”

 

Jensen knelt at the water edge, closer than ever. “You can? But…why?”

 

“Oh, that’s just what we do,” he replied dismissively. “We sea people are notoriously helpful, ask any man on those shippy-things.”

 

“You would really do it?”

 

Jared’s hand suddenly darted forward, cold fingers closing around Jensen’s wrist. “But, Jensen, I must warn you: there’s a price to pay.”

 

The man laughed humourlessly, but didn’t remove his hand. “Isn’t there always? It can’t be worse than young master Benedict’s.”

 

“So be it, then… Now,” he said, clapping his hands together like an extremely big child. “All that we need is a plan!”

 

“A plan?” Jensen asked, amused.

 

“Why, yes! Don’t you know?” he replied, a huge grin on his face. “We sea people are notoriously mischievous, too.”

 

 

**********

 

_It was almost noon when the harpist made it back to the city – and who should he meet but old master Benedict himself? They immediately started arguing about the harpist’s pay and what had happened the night before right there in the middle of the street, with all the people watching._

_It seemed that the argument would never end, until suddenly the harpist cried: “If I’m telling the truth, tomorrow I’ll go down at the lake and catch three golden fishes.”_

_The old merchant laughed, knowing how quick and smart the golden fishes were: catching one was a feat worthy only of the best and luckiest fisherman, three was nothing short of impossible._

_But the harpist insisted, saying he would play for the merchant and his family for a whole year, whenever they wished and without pay. “Only,” he added. “it must be a fair bet: if I do catch them, you will give me a quarter of all your wealth.”_

_The rich merchant laughed again and accepted._

_Soon the news of the harpist’s madness was all over the city. Throughout the afternoon well into the night, all sort of people went to the harpist and to all the rich men who mocked him, he offered the same deal: his trade for a year free of charge against a quarter of their wealth._

_In the end, all the richest merchants in the city laughed and agreed, sure of their victory._

 

***************

 

 

Jensen left his boots and shirt on the shore and walked into the lake, trying to block out both the water’s temperature and the whispering behind him.

A delegation of the city notables watched him from the shore – he could feel their eyes on him as well as he could feel the noon sunshine on his skin.

Now it was time: without hurry, he pulled the net down from his shoulder, unfolded it and cast it into the water.

 

All he had to do now was wait – easy to say, not so easy to do with all those glancing and all that whispering.

_They’re not even talking about me. Probably. I must stay calm... It’s going to be fine, J- prince Jared won’t go back on his word._ _And what’s worth a water crea...no, I mustn’t think that. They may be mischievous, but they are not cruel. Jared wouldn’t do it, not after he heard the song. He knows how much this means to me. He did mention a price, too: this means we have a deal and everybody knows that a merpeople deal is magically binding, even when the other party is a human... Stay calm. I can’t lose my nerve now._

 

Each second seemed to crawl by as slowly as a year, minutes stretched into centuries. The knots in Jensen’s stomach grew tighter and tighter, beads of sweat rolled down his back – then, suddenly, something gently tugged the net.

_Oh gods...here we go._ Jensen started dragging the net ashore, his catch pulling and fighting every step of the way. It was strong, stronger than he had anticipated: with little next to no training, the net kept threatening to slip from his hands, the rocks were slippery under his feet, his shoulders and arms ached, but Jensen kept going, kept dragging the net until he stumbled back on dry land, his legs abruptly giving up under him.

For a long moment, he didn’t dare to raise his head, afraid of what he would see. Then, he heard the other men gasp, a couple of them curse under their breath, and he looked up to see gold scales gleaming under the sunlight.

J

ensen couldn’t help but grin as he quickly untangled the fish and put into the basket Misha carried. “Here’s one.”

He stood, picked up the net and strode back into the water.

 

 

***************

 

_Twice the harpist cast his net into the lake and pulled two more golden fishes from its waters._

_Soon the news were all over the city: everyone wanted to see the three golden fishes and the man who caught them! The bet was won and the merchants had to pay their debt._

 

***************

 

 

Sneaking away from his own celebrations hadn’t been easy, especially with Misha as master of ceremony, but Jensen hadn’t been able to stay a minute longer: as pleasant as Misha and his own family’s company was, there was another person he wished – needed – to see.

Once out of sight from the gates, he broke into a run, not caring if his harp slammed into his side.

_There won’t be much time,_ _only until sunset at best. Almost there..._

 

“Jared!” he yelled, giddy with ale and happiness. “It worked! We made it!”

But the cove was empty.

 

Jensen stopped, trying to catch his breath again, and laughed a little at his own impatience. _As if Jared would wait here all day for you! He’s a water lord, he has...important water lord-ish duties. Whatever those are. I must ask him._

Still grinning like a child, Jensen sat down on one of the rocks by the water’s edge and waited.

 

Hours passed. The sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of golden and pink. Jensen didn’t move.

He stayed in the cove as the first stars began to appear and the moon rose above the water, as the sun appeared once more over the horizon and slowly climbed up in the sky.

Jared never came.

 

As the lake shone under the midday sun, Jensen had to accept what he already knew in his heart: whatever the price may have been, he had already started paying.

He stood on the shore, watching the ships sail on – knowing some of them were now his and one day he would be able to board one as well.

 

With slow, heavy movements, he slipped the leather strap over his head, holding his beloved instrument in his hands.

“Farewell, prince Jared. I would have liked to see you once more,” he whispered, then raised his arm and threw his harp into the lake.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_So it was that the poor harpist became the richest man in Gorburg. He settled his father’s debts and bought back his family’s ancestral home._

 

***************

 

The sound of restless pacing in the main hall abruptly startled him from his memories of dark eyes and bright smiles.

_It must be time to go…_ he thought as went to peer out of the door.

 

Royse was standing before the mirror, adjusting her coif.

Jensen took a moment to watch her unseen, proudly taking in the elegant cut of her woollen dress, the fine embroidery on her shawl, the warm shoes on her feet and, best of all, the rosy, healthier glow of her skin: no more pale, hollow cheeks, no more coughing – the simple miracle of good food and a warm house. 

Royse scowled, her hands nervously smoothing down nonexistent creases on her skirt, then made a nasty face at the mirror.

 

Frowning, Jensen stepped into the hall – the sound of the door closing behind him made Royse jump visibly.

“Oh, Jensen, it’s you! You gave me such a fright!”

 

“Since when you’re such a scaredy cat?” He teased gently. “There’s only us and the servants – and you know they make no noise.”

 

“Don’t remind me,” she muttered, looking away.

 

Jensen moved closer, frowning again. “Royse? Is there something that matter?”

 

“No, no, nothing. Nothing at all.”

 

“Royse…” he said softly. “You know you can tell me everything. Come on, what is it?”

 

“I’m just…just trying to get used to it,” she replied, fidgeting with her sleeves.

 

“Get used to what?”

 

“This!” she gestured widely. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate all you’ve done for us, but… our old house was the only home I ever remember. Now I have a room of my own and lots of dresses and _servants_ and…sometimes I feel like I’m just a child playing dress up and I’ll be found out.” She swallowed hard. “Are you angry now? Please don’t be angry, I don’t…”

 

“No, it’s all right,” he interrupted, pulling her into a hug. “I didn’t know you felt like that…”

 

“I just…I think I just need time. Please don’t think me ungrateful, it just happened so suddenly…”

 

“You know you can have all the time you need. I promise you it will get better.”

 

She nodded and smiled as she stepped away from him. “I shouldn’t complain so much, not when I can finally marry Misha.”

There was something not quite of this world in her smile – a sliver of infinite happiness. Just for a second, Jensen felt his heart clench and burn as if it had been prickled by tiny ice needles.

 

However, before he could think of what it might mean, Mrs. Ackles came down the stairs: both her children hurriedly grabbed their cloaks, then the whole family set out for church.

 

It was such a beautiful day it was impossible to stay upset. As he walked across the great square with two beautiful, elegant women, Jensen felt ten feet tall: he could have climbed the highest mountain, crossed the deepest river, run to one of the Plains to the other, there was nothing he could not do.

Royse held on to his arm as they climbed up the cathedral stairs. Jensen smiled at her encouragingly, but before they could step across the threshold, the priest stopped them. “The ladies can come in,” he said sternly “But not you.” 

Royse’s grip on his arm tightened. 

 

“Why not?” Jensen replied challengingly. “I have received all the sacraments.”

 

“You gained your wealth through gambling and trickery.”

 

“Did I?” Jensen snorted. “Funny, I don’t recall anyone holding a knife to their neck when the esteemed merchants of Gorburg accepted the bet! I won, fair and square.”

 

“You consorted with the devil! No man alone could have captured three fishes!”

 

“No man save my son!” Mrs Ackles said angrily. “You have no right to deny him entrance to the house of the Lord!”

 

The priest pursed his lips. “He is not welcome here!”

 

“Well, then neither am I,” the matron replied. 

 

“Nor I!” Royse quickly added.

 

“Mother, Royse, you don’t...” Jensen tried, but Mrs. Ackles didn’t let him finish: “No, Jensen. You are my son and I won’t allow anyone to treat you like this. Good day, father.”

With a cold nod, she turned on her heel and walked away, gently taking her children with her.

 

“We’ll go to our old parish,” she said firmly once they were out of earshot. “Considering all the toasts father Eric drank to your health at our celebration, I don’t think he’ll turn us away. If not for that, then for all the donations for his roof fund,” she added shrewdly.

 

“Mother!” Royse cried, a little shocked.

 

“Oh, don’t look like that, dear. We are rich, influential people again, whether the other merchants like it or not.”

 

“They could make our life difficult, though...” Jensen remarked gloomily. “Perhaps...”

 

Again he was interrupted, this time by a tall, dark aired man who came running after them, shouting his name. “Jensen!”

 

“Misha! I thought you were still at Mass!”

 

“After the way you were treated? I don’t think so!” the other man replied, stopping near them. “Mrs. Ackles, good morning. Miss Royse.”

 

“Hi Mi...er, hello, Master Collins.”

 

“We shall attend mass at our old church,” Mrs. Ackles said, a knowing smile on her lips. “Why don’t you join us?”

 

“Gladly. But first I must tell you: my family will stand by you. We may not be as rich as the Benedicts or... well, you,” he added with a smile. “But all our resources at your disposal.”

 

“Just like in the old times, mmm?” Mrs. Ackles’ eyes shone.

 

“Better. Many were glad to see the great families brought down a peg or two – especially among the smaller merchant families. Old Cassidy is with us and so are the Beavers and the Morgans.”

 

“Good. Very good.” Jensen nodded. “They won’t know what hit them.”

 

 

“That’s the spirit!” Mrs. Ackles laughed. 

 

Jensen smiled a little tightly.  _So it begins..._

 

***************

 

_...and for years and years he worked as a merchant and grew even wealthier._

_ The people of Gorburg – especially the merchants who lost the bet – said he had the luck of the devil, for his ships never sunk or lost course.  _

 

***************

 

“...so the next shipment should – are you listening to me?”

 

Abruptly forced out of his thoughts, Jensen had at least the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry, Misha. I didn’t mean to.”

 

“It’s fine, it can wait,” Misha replied, setting his papers aside. “It’s not a good time, I know... I miss her as well.”

 

Jensen nodded and looked away. “I know. Mother always thought of you as one of the family even before you married my sister. That was the happiest day of her life.” 

 

Misha smiled. “Second happiest. She did get to meet our Auda.”

 

“True. How’s Royse holding up?”

 

“Better than last year. Do you want to take a break?” Misha suggested gently.

 

“Maybe we shouldn’t...”

 

“It’s fine, really. As I said, it can wait...and, Jensen, if I may? You have been working way too much.”

 

“In the last two years?”

 

“In the last six. You are allowed to take it easier now, you know?” 

Before he could reply, Misha left, closing the door behind him.

 

Jensen sighed and wearily rubbed his forehead. When his mother had suddenly passed away, they had all been heartbroken, but now... Now it was getting better – and Jensen wasn’t so sure it was a good thing. 

Misha had unwittingly hit the real problem: the other reason why Jensen had wanted to become a rich merchant. 

_This is ridiculous, I haven’t thought about travelling in years...And why should I do it? I have everything I need here._ A vision of dark eyes flashed for a moment before him.  _Well, almost everything._

 

Even through the closed window, Jensen could hear the distant cry of the seagulls – he could hear it echo in heart, flowing in his veins stronger than any siren song. 

_One year. Just one more year for Royse, then I’ll go._

 

***************

 

_ And one day, he called his faithful friend and handed all his affairs over to him...  _

 

***************

 

“Are you sure about this?” Misha couldn’t quite mask the worry in his voice.

 

“Believe me, Misha,” Jensen smiled, suddenly looking ten years younger. “I have done nothing but think about this. Even if you weren’t my brother and my best friend, there’s no other I’d trust as much.” 

 

“Oh, shut up. Flattery will get you nowhere,” Misha replied, chuckling.

 

“What about you, little sister? I imagine you hardly approve...”

For a moment, Jensen remembered the scared girl she had been long ago, when they first moved in. Shy, apprehensive Royse had grown into a composed, sensible and, most important of all, happy woman. He couldn’t have been prouder.

 

Royse smiled sadly at him and reached for his hand. “You have done more than your duty to me, Jensen.” She pulled him into a hug. “Remember when I was young and used to get sick all the time and you’d tell me all those wonderful stories about the faraway places we’d visit?”

Jensen nodded, his words a tangled lump in his throat.

“You always looked so happy when you told me those stories,” Royse whispered. “I haven’t seen you happy in a long time.”

 

“Royse...”

 

She took a step back, out of his arms, so she could look straight at him. “Go with my blessing, brother mine.”

 

Jensen’s eyes were full of tears, but his smile was full of joy. “Thank you, Royse. I’ll send news as often as possible.”

 

“Good. Don’t forget or I’ll have my husband teach you a lesson.” She hugged him again, this time even more tightly. “And you must promise me you’ll return someday.” 

 

“I promise.”

 

***************

 

_ The harpist boarded a ship and left for the distant lands across the sea. For many years he travelled, visiting many place and seeing many wondrous sights. But after so much travelling, he started longing for his native city.  _

 

***************

 

There was sand under his feet and the sound of water – the Caran lake – gently lapping against the shore. Nothing else, the world was submerged in night.

_Jensen..._

Then there was a voice calling his name, soft as a spring breeze.

_Jensen..._

He knew that voice. He had heard it before, though he couldn’t say where or how – in that dark place, it was the only real thing, the only thing that mattered and he couldn’t move, couldn’t follow.

_Jensen_ ...

When he woke up, it was still ringing in his ears, a summon that couldn’t be ignored.

 

***************

 

_So he decided to return to Gorburg._

_ He travelled for miles and miles, across the land and sea, until he reached the mouth of the Caran river, where he bought passage on a ship. After several weeks, they were sailing on familiar waters and Gorburg stood just across the lake.  _

_ But right in the middle of their journey, their ship suddenly stopped moving as all the other ships sailed on.  _

_ One of the old sailors realized it was the Sea King who held them back and wouldn’t let them go until one of them agreed to go stay in his kingdom, at the bottom of the lake. They decided to draw lots to see who would have to stay.  _

 

***************

 

Brock Kelly looked down at his straw and all the colour drained from his face. His hands started shaking.

 

A couple of feet away, Jensen’s heart skipped a beat.  _Oh, gods, no. Not Brock..._

Brock was only the last on a long list of people of both sexes and various social conditions he had befriended in his travels, yet he was also the one who had impressed him the most – a young ship’s boy, the oldest of six children who had been working since he was eight years old, it had been impossible for Jensen not to see himself in him.

 

As two sailors started advancing on him, a weird look passed between the captain and the first mate – the same look they had shared before they started preparing the lots to be drawn. 

Realization hit like a lightning bolt.  _They rigged it!_

 

After that, Jensen didn’t stop to think. “One moment, captain. I believe there has been a mistake,” he called loudly enough to be heard all over the deck as he stepped forward, holding his hastily broken piece of straw. “I believe I have the shortest one.”

All eyes were on him, he could feel them – but this time, he knew how to use it.  _You can’t contest it before everybody else, now, can you?_

 

Brock was looking at him, too, torn between relief and horror. “Mr. Ackles...”

 

“It’s fine. I know my duty.” _I’ve always known_. “Walk with me a second, Brock,” he said, already heading for the railing. 

 

“Mr. Ackles...” the young boy tried again, but Jensen doesn’t let him finish.

 

“I have a favour to ask you. I want you to take my things to my sister, Mrs. Collins.” 

 

“I will, Mr. Ackles. I swear I will,” Brock said, unsuccessfully trying to hide the tremble in his voice. 

 

“Thank you, Brock. You’re a good man.” He smiled. “There’s a leather pouch with three fishes painted on in my trunk – a little trifle I picked up in the East and I have no use for. Tell my sister I said you can have it.” _That and all the money it holds, but you wouldn’t accept it if you knew._ “Tell her I send my love and I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”

With a quick movement, he climbed on the railing and jumped overboard.

 

***************

 

_The moment he disappeared beneath the water, the ship sprang forward._

_ But the harpist remained in the Sea King’s realm.  _

***************

 

It was strange to wake up again and find himself sprawled on a large, soft bed, breathing water in and out as easily as though he had always done so.

He was in a room unlike any other he’d ever seen and he was not alone: there was a man sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jensen’s lips slowly stretched into a smile. “Am I dreaming?”

 

“Why should you be?” a voice he hadn’t heard in years murmured gently.

 

“You’re here. It must be a dream. Or is this Heaven?” He asked, reaching up to touch the man’s cheek. “Jared...”

 

The sea prince swallowed hard, but leaned into his touch. “You remember me...”

 

“Of course I do. How could I have forget you? After everything you did for me?”

 

At those words, Jared shivered, abruptly moving away. “Perhaps you’ll wish you never met me...Jensen, I...it’s because of me you’re here.”

 

Instead of yelling or demanding explanations, Jensen simply nodded. “I know.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Give me a little credit here, I figured it out.” He reached out and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you again. You haven’t changed at all.” 

 

“Neither have you.”

 

Jensen couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “I have. It’s been ten years.”

 

“No, you haven’t.” He smiled. “I found your harp – I’ve been looking after it all this time. I couldn’t wait to give it back to you...I’ve missed hearing you. You stopped singing after you caught the fishes.”

 

“I stopped singing after you left,” Jensen corrected gently. “I wasn’t...inspired.”

 

“Oh...” Jared looked away, shame colouring his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” Jensen replied, closing the distance between them and kissing him.

It was definitely not the shy peck on the lips Jared had been expecting.

 

“So...you’re not angry with me?” he asked as soon as he could bear to stop kissing Jensen – i.e. a good while later.

 

“Should I be?” Jensen replied, kissing and licking his way down Jared’s neck.

 

“W-well, I...you’re stuck here for eternity. You can’t go back to the surface, ever and...” He swallowed hard as Jensen sucked on his earlobe. “Shutting up now,” he moaned and allowed himself to be dragged on the bed. “Who taught you to kiss like _that_?”

 

“I’m not sure I should tell you...”

 

“What? Why not?”

 

“Because you sound like you’d like to hunt down each and every person I’ve ever kissed and kill them.” Jensen replied, looking straight at him with serious eyes. “Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

Jared had to look away, blushing and muttering unintelligible curses under his breath.

“You disappeared for ten years and didn’t tell me it would happen when we made our deal,” Jensen said, then softened his words placing a light kiss on Jared’s shoulder. “You don’t get to complain.”

 

“You’re right,” Jared reluctantly conceded before pushing his lover down on the bed and straddling him. “But now you’re here and you’re mine. Forever.”

 

“Forever;” Jensen assured, pulling him down for another kiss.

 

***************

 

_ The harpist became the sea prince’s consort and they both lived together in the Sea King’s realm, at the bottom of the sea.  _

_And in every port of the Great Plains, sailors speak of quiet nights, when the water is calm and a good wind fills the sails, of the soft notes of a harp and a voice singing from the deep._

_ Then they know it’s the harpist of Gorburg singing for his beloved and his songs are so beautiful that even the Sea King himself will stop and listen and cause passing ships no harm.  _

 

 


End file.
